The Princess and the Thorns
by b does the write thing
Summary: After being banished from the Dark Castle when she tried to lift the curse, Belle is left at the mercy of dark magic's whims and reeling from a heartache that she doesn't quite understand. AU.


**One shot because I just started writing at the idea of how hard a broken heart must be in a land of magic and true love. And how confusing when you fall in love and end up over your head. **

* * *

She had thorns in her hair and a blank expression on her face.

Tatters and threads hung from her, cuts and scratches were painted across her limbs like intricate vines and her hands were in shreds, hanging limply at her side.

Lost.

Lost in the labyrinth surrounding the Dark Castle, she sat numbly in the dust. Her once neat appearance now caked in days of dirt and blood. Dew and sweat had mingled with her tears making her face a shiny patchwork of motely colors.

The words "_Get out!"_ echoed in her head like a mantra but instead of serenity it only brought a decreasing sense of panic and self-doubt.

She had behaved brazenly. Kissing him like that. Thinking he-

She shook her head in dismissal, shying away from that thought. She glanced back up at the dimming sky, watching as the clouds that surrounded the Dark Castle swirl ever thicker, blocking out the stars she could almost see in the gathering gloom before the sun completely faded and left her alone in the dark.

Four nights now.

She could sleep. She could lay her head down into the gravel and wake up shaking with cold, damp and shivering violently in the predawn hours, relieving herself in the corners before trying to pick some more berries from the silent sentries of the walls.

The wind blew through the aisles, making the tall hedges sway in the gusts, lifting her hair up from its sticky tendrils along the back of her neck and she closed her eyes in welcome of it, letting it trace her face before it continued down the dark corridor, calling back to her with its moaning cry.

Lying down, she curled onto her side, bringing her sore and battered limbs into tight to her core, ducking her head down out of the range of the wind and buried it into the earth beneath her. Breathing in the scent of the soil, she released her breath in one choked sob, trying to keep the tears back.

There was no more use in tears. Hours had been wasted in it on the second day, dead end after dead end before she had snapped in fear and frustration and had attacked the towering thorns with her hands and feet- trying to tear through it to the other side and only suffering injuries for her troubles.

The labyrinth was his. And it followed his wishes.

He had told her to go and never return. And perhaps he had meant it as a death sentence. Or perhaps it was the curse taking its revenge for her attempt to free him from its clutches. Or maybe he didn't even realize she had sent her out here to die. He probably hadn't spared another thought for her after she had-

Closing her eyes, she inhaled the musky smell of herself and the earth in an attempt to ground herself. She clutched her fists tightly and felt the agony burn up along her arms and sear into the tense muscles at the base of her neck. The dryness of her mouth and throat she ignored, knowing in the morning – dew would cover every leaf and branch of the maze- easily drinkable if she risked another scar to tilt the thorny branches down into her eager mouth.

Unbidden, the feel of him against her rose up in her weak and wandering mind. She could smell him- that odd mix of cedar and parchment, feel the overpowering warmth of him up against her and then the dry but suede like softness of his lips under hers, hesitant and then welcoming - thickening against hers as she explored what it was like to kiss a man-wet, spicy and heady- feeling his stubble underneath her fingerprints before he had ripped himself away.

Wincing at the memory, Belle curled up tighter, feeling a tear pool in the corner of her eye. She rebuked herself, remembering the look of anger and disgust on his face as she spoke foolishly of saving him from himself.

Learning that love was just as horrible as she had always heard it to be. A childhood spent eavesdropping on the maids as they washed her small cloths, listening to the ladies of the court speak in whispers about the ruin it had brought on so and so's daughter and watching as the young bucks of court ride off to battle against the ogres to win a cold maiden's heart only to never return and never be mourned by the lady he thought to woo with his senseless death.

She had thought it all nonsense, some made up game that she didn't understand the rules to.

And then he had come along, plucked her like a rose from her father's garden and kept her as a prisoner in his castle. Or he had meant to at least. She couldn't rightfully recall what had changed- there had been an arrow misfired, a cup dropped and a curtain ripped- and then she had found herself dreaming about the dark enchanter who giggled like a school child, touching her hair up for the brooding glances of the dark one and staying up late reading aloud as her petulant captor pretended to be reading his own dark papers on the couch behind her.

She had grown accustomed to him, she had told herself. Made the best of a terrible situation by smiling and laughing, rolling her sleeves up to do the hard work to keep herself from growing mad and all she had managed to do was fall in love.

How odd, she had thought to herself the first time they had touched- the day she had ripped down his curtains and his walls by toppling off a ladder into his waiting arms. They both stared up at each other, lost in the feeling of another person's touch before they both realized the obvious: magic would have easily broken her fall. He had set her down and hurried off but nothing had been the same after that.

The wind was growing stronger and she opened one bloodshot eye to stare down the darkness that stretched out before her, scooting back slightly until she felt the prickle of the hedge against her back. It might scratch her in the night, the hedges sometimes were cruel, shifting and reaching out, crowding her and forcing her in the direction it chose- and she knew logically she would die here in this maze. Die at the hands of magic that had saved her kingdom.

Blood for blood, she supposed, arcing her back to let the mini knives plunge deeper, biting her lip to draw blood to ease the cracked skin.

She didn't care anymore. If morning came and she could just continue to sleep, she would count it a kindness. She didn't want to dream of him anymore; she didn't want to wake hoping to find herself back in her bed, him sitting at her bedside. She didn't want to walk for hours, hoping with every turn that he would be just around the corner, shaking his curls in faux annoyance, his eyes showing his real concern – a million scenarios where he was there.

But she never let herself believe he would reach out and embrace her. Not at the risk of losing everything he held dear.

No, that fantasy was far too impossible to even entertain. She would never feel his pulse race against hers again.

Any warmth that radiated from her, the heat in her stomach and the burning in her face- that would be a shame to her now. Something she couldn't control any more than the instinct to reach out and touch his face had been- moments before he banished her to the outskirts of his castle- leaving her alone and furious enough to stomp off into the maze in the dark- growing lost within hours and growing hopeless as the days passed.

She closed her eyes again, the sight of the darkness spiraling in front of her sliding into the odd vortex of light and endlessness that always waited for her under her lids. She let her mind go blank and then she slipped into sleep, not feeling the wind as it raced back, blowing back against the actual storm that was brewing overhead.

It was searching for her.

_He_ was searching for her.

But when she opened her eyes hours later, it was not Rumpelstiltskin who stood before her.

No, it was the woman from that horrible afternoon, smiling down at her with plum stained lips, eyes gleaming from the fireball she held in her hand like a torch, skin as pale as ivory that looked like thin marble stretched over a grinning skull.

"Hello, dear," the witch purred, lips spreading into a self-satisfied leer. "I'm here to rescue you ."

* * *

**Thanks for reading- Any issues with grammar, spelling etc just direct message me and I'll fix. **

**Currently no plans to continue this beyond this as we all know what happens next.**

**(Right?)**


End file.
